Ten thousand scratch in
river bank and bed for surface gold. Priest and layman, would-be
scientist and embryo experts, ignore the yellow threaded quartz
veins buttressing the great Sierras. He would be a madman now who
would think that five hundred millions will be pounded out of the
rusty rocks of these California hills in less than a score of years.
The toilers have no curiosity as to the origin or mother veins of
the precious metal sought.
Maxime Valois sits under the red-tiled porches of the mission
in January, 1849. He has despatched his first safe consignment
of letters to Belle Etoile. He little cares for the events which
have thrown the exhaustless metal belt of the great West into the
reserve assets of the United States. He knows not it is destined
within fifty years to be the richest land in the world. The dark
schemes of slavery's lord-like statesmen have swept these vast
areas into our map. The plotters have ignored the future colossal
returns of gold, silver, copper, and lead.
Not an American has yet caught the real value of the world's most
extensive forests of pine and redwood. They clothe these western
slopes with graceful, unmutilated pageantry of green.
Fisheries and fields which promise great gains are passed unnoticed.
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